


Control

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Dom!Martin, Light Dom/sub, M/M, sub!Douglas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's control extends beyond the flight deck, in areas other than aviation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

There was a secluded spot on the ground floor of the airfield’s tower, just around the corner from the base of the tower stairs. Out of sight and, quite often, out of mind. It housed an electrical panel that’d been out of use since the whole airfield had been rewired to bring it up to long neglected code. It had one light that Dirk never bothered replacing as he no longer had to work in the shadowy corner. Anything softer than a stage whisper went unheard unless someone was tiptoeing up and down the tower stairs.

Martin referred to it as the ‘pilot’s lounge.’

Hands—Douglas’ broad and strong, Martin’s quick and nimble—carried and carried out unspoken instructions.

Douglas’ were spread low across Martin’s waist, fingertips just grazing the upper curve of his arse. His firm grip kept the shorter man’s body pressed flush to his as he rocked his hips to the time of some internal beat with Martin’s thigh thrust up between his legs. There was no warmth or softness to aid Douglas’ movement; he was still fully clothed, as per Martin’s order. It was Martin’s best pair of trousers that Douglas was grinding his constrained cock against and Martin had no desire to clean bodily fluids from them, especially a few hours before they were scheduled to take a flight.

One of Douglas’ hands slipped fully below Martin’s belt and grabbed a good handful of his arse.

Martin grabbed the tie around Douglas’ neck— _his_ tie; Douglas rarely saw the need to wear all parts of his uniform—and pulled sharply, bringing Douglas’ open mouth down to his. Martin kissed him, wrapping the tie once around his hand to keep Douglas from pulling away, and nipped unapologetically at the first officer’s bottom lip when he didn’t kiss back. Douglas’ rhythm faltered as he tried to direct his attention to two different activities. His wandering hand rose to the small of Martin’s back, his hips slowing as he answered Martin’s demanding kiss.

Martin forced the pace back up by sliding his hand between them and pinching one of Douglas’ nipples.

Douglas bucked, trying to simultaneously pull away from Martin’s touch and push their bodies together. Due to Martin’s grip on the tie, he didn’t get far. He dropped his forehead to Martin’s, shutting his eyes tightly against the shudder that Martin saw and felt run through his body.

“Mar-” Douglas started to pant.

Martin tugged on the tie, effectively cutting Douglas off mid-pant. He saw the crease deepen in Douglas’ brow before the taller man corrected himself.

“Sir,” Douglas breathed.

“Sir, what?” Martin prompted, lifting his leg to meet Douglas’ rhythm.

“Sir, _please_ ,” Douglas groaned as Martin skillfully applied pressure with his thigh.

Martin nodded, satisfied, and pulled back just enough to work his hand between his leg and Douglas’ groin. It took barely a touch. Martin’s hand curled over the insistent bulge in Douglas’ trousers and Douglas came, his hands twisting so roughly in Martin’s shirt that the garment was almost yanked fully out of Martin’s trousers. He thrust erratically into Martin’s hand a few times before letting his head fall back as he collapsed against the wall. Martin supported him, pressing his hands to Douglas’ chest and resting his head over the first officer’s rapidly beating heart.

When Douglas’ breathing had regulated and Martin was sure he could stand on his own, Martin leaned up to press a soft kiss to Douglas’ lips. He undid the knot on the tie as he soothed marks made by his teeth and stepped back from Douglas with a smug grin and his tie in hand.

Martin untucked his shirt and undid his belt and trousers, starting from square one as he tidied up his appearance. He straightened his shirt as best as possible and tucked it back into his trousers, ensuring that the column of buttons lined up with his fly. Douglas watched from under heavy-lidded eyes as Martin tied his tie and folded his collar neatly over it.

Perfectly presentable again in a matter of minutes, Martin chuckled at Douglas’ disheveled—and frankly, telling—condition.

“You may want to clean yourself up before you come back to the portacabin,” Martin suggested, doing up the open buttons of Douglas’ shirt. He leaned forward to give him one last kiss. “And don’t forget to file the flight plan.”

Douglas arched a brow in a way Martin knew to mean, ‘You can’t be serious.’ Martin didn’t justify or repeat his instruction. He turned away and headed out towards the tower stairs, knowing without a doubt that Douglas would follow through with his request.

They both knew that things worked best when Martin was in control.


End file.
